


Khamsin

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: F/F, First Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arha learned Penthe's body the way she learned the tunnels and rooms of the Labyrinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Khamsin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivyspinners](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyspinners/gifts).



> Thanks so much to Rachel for looking it over.

Of all her duties as the One Priestess, Arha most enjoyed the dancing at the dark of the moon. The drug-fumes made everything hazy and soft, shadows blending into night as one, all darkness the same darkness, both the substance and the domain of those she served. Only the drumming was clear and sharp as the knife she tossed and caught with ease now, scarred fingers inexorably finding the handle. Only the drumming, which was also the pounding of her feet on the ground, the thrumming of her blood in her veins, the beating of her heart in her chest, was real. In a life of solitude, quiet, and darkness, the dancing was vibrant, loud, alive in a way that nothing else in the Place was, an offering of life to feed the dark.

Arha felt everything more keenly after she danced, the warm night air against her skin, the droplets of sweat that ran down her neck and between her breasts (still new and as fascinating as they were embarrassing), the sand beneath the soles of her feet. She felt the thrumming of the dance even when she lay in bed, the pulse of it beating in her heart and, in another recent development, between her thighs. She pressed them together and felt relief from the growing ache of emptiness, a tightening that sent pleasurable shivers through her body.

This must be another secret gift of the darkness, she thought, for no one, not even Thar, had spoken of it to her.

It was not long after that the goats chewed through one of the pens, and in the ensuing chaos, Arha grabbed Penthe, who grabbed her basket of apples, and they rushed away to the river. The water was sluggish but cooler than the hot summer sun, and they hiked up their robes and let it tickle their toes. Penthe was pink with exertion, and even under the heavy, shapeless robe she wore, Arha could see her breasts heaving, the soft curves of them pulled tight against the wool as she leaned back on her hands. Her fair hair curled in soft wisps around her pink cheeks, and her teeth flashed white with laughter, and Arha thought she looked like one of her favorite rosy gold apples. That led to Arha wondering if she tasted as sweet, and before she could think of a reason not to, she swooped in and pressed her mouth to Penthe's.

Penthe was indeed as sweet as her apples, soft and warm and surprised. She clutched at Arha and murmured, "Oh!" into her mouth. Arha laughed, pleased, and pushed at her shoulders, so that Penthe tumbled back against the sandy riverbank. Arha moved over her, that desperate ache beginning to pound in her blood, though there were no drums but their own hearts, loudly keeping time.

"Let this be our secret," Arha said as she licked sweat and sand off the curve of Penthe's cheek and the flushed column of her throat.

"Yes," Penthe said, arching up into Arha's touches, and surprising Arha by returning them, at first over, and then, with growing boldness, under the heavy black robes they wore. 

They returned to the Place flushed and satiated. Arha found it difficult to concentrate on her duties; her mind turned to the pleasures she'd so recently discovered, and she found that remembering them in detail would cause the sensations to return, a lingering echo of touches that made her yearn all the more. Being parted from Penthe was agony, but she had been made to bear pain, and she bore it as well as she could, though her body was aflame with need.

Penthe slipped away to the Small House whenever she could now, and Arha always bade her come in. Together they would lie naked beneath the furs on the bed, touching and gasping and laughing, the very air between them tinged with their joy in each other.

Arha had always been a good student, but perhaps never such an eager one before. She learned the secret curves and passages of Penthe's body the way she learned the tunnels and rooms of the Labyrinth, by touch and taste and smell, eyes closed the better to orient herself by her other senses, and imprint these sacred places upon her memory. The soft cries falling from Penthe's lips were as much a goad and teacher as the pleasure of her own responses to touching and being touched. Those whispered promises of loved soothed the ache of silence in her heart the way Penthe's fingers, lips, and tongue drove away the empty ache between her legs.

With Thar gone and Kossil a brooding menace that would have to be dealt with eventually, Arha let herself be consumed again, by the Nameless Ones underground and by Penthe underneath the covers. She was emptied and filled to bursting over and over, until she was giddy and overwhelmed with it. Her dancing at the dark of the moon was wilder, freer, and her occasional laughter in the dining hall was louder and brighter, causing heads to turn wherever she went and whispers to follow her through the Place even more than they had before. She didn't care. She had learned to see the stars with her eyes closed, in the same way she had learned to see beauty in the darkness, and she hugged the knowledge close and hoped she remembered it in her next life.

She was full of love and knew herself loved in return, though it was not until many years later that she recognized it was so, or knew what to call it.

She reveled in the feel of Penthe's arms around her, in the soft silk of her skin, as fine as any ancient dancing dress in the treasure rooms, in the steady beat of Penthe's heart beneath her ear as they floated back down to earth after touching the stars. Arha knew, in the secret dark places of her heart that belonged to her masters, that Penthe was not of the Tombs and did not belong to the Place the way Arha did, and one day, she would find a way to leave, even if it meant taking Arha's heart with her. 

On that day, Arha would find solace once again in the dark of the Labyrinth, but for now, she would not borrow trouble. It would find them easily enough on its own.

**Author's Note:**

> Khamsin is a dry, hot, sandy local wind, blowing from the south, in North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula.


End file.
